


Heavy and Red

by Solarcat



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Arizona Coyotes | Phoenix Coyotes, Captain Coyote loves his goalie best of all, Collars, Consensual Kink, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn, kind of praise kink-y, previously negotiated kink, the care and keeping of goalies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2674373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solarcat/pseuds/Solarcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shane Doan is one of the best captains in the league. He takes his responsibilities very seriously.</p><p>(It's dirty Captain/Goalie collars-and-facefucking porn, okay, I'm not even gonna try to give this a srs bsns summary. Y'all already know if that's the sort of thing you're into~)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy and Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sly_fck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sly_fck/gifts), [ChelseaCyanide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelseaCyanide/gifts), [saxifandomck (saxihighlandck)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=saxifandomck+%28saxihighlandck%29).



> I MISS YOU FABULOUS LADIES~ ;_______; HAPPY THANKSGIVING! <3 <3 <3 *pines away in the frozen North*
> 
> As ever, endless love to Kinetikatrue for making my words better. <3 All remaining mistakes are mine!
> 
> Title from "Drive" by Melissa Ferrick, AKA the greatest song to write porn to, ever. A++ highly recommended if you haven't tried it! Also, everything in this story is fake (except that Shane Doan is the best captain <3 ).

It’s one of those horrible games, where they’re playing catch-up all night and never quite managing it. Smitty let three in early, a pair of nasty redirects he couldn’t have seen coming, but one that Shane knows he’s kicking himself for, that snuck right under his glove. He locks it down after that, stands on his head for them the rest of the night, but no matter how hard they try, they just can’t get the third goal to tie it up, and the horn sounds on a disappointing 3-2 loss.

Mike nearly breaks his stick on cinderblock wall of the tunnel, heading back to the room (out of the view of the fans in the Rinkside Club, thankfully). He’s a tense coil of sinewy muscle as he rips out of his gear, and only gets worse as the beat reporters come in for their scrums. They’re kind enough to let him keep his head down and not talk to anyone as they all shower and pack it up to head home, try to sleep it off and start fresh tomorrow. 

Shane catches Mike just as he’s slipping his suit jacket over his shoulders, and he slips a proprietary hand around the back of Mike’s neck, spreading his fingers out and squeezing. His grip’s not quite hard enough to leave bruises, but Mike’s skin will be red for a minute or two after Shane lets him go. Mike freezes up, then pushes back into Shane’s grip, silently acknowledging the way the contact shifts them from teammates to something else. 

“You’ll come home with me,” Shane tells him, leaning in close so the rest of the room can’t hear. 

It’s nothing Shane wouldn’t do for any of them; the C giving a quiet word of encouragement or advice, after a rough game. The difference is in the way Mike swallows thickly and says, “Yes, Captain,” in a quiet voice. 

Shane squeezes his nape once more, _good boy_ , before letting him go, and Mike chases the contact, leaning back into Shane for a moment before he catches himself. Shane smiles fondly at the way he shakes his head in embarrassment. In the beginning, Mike would push back sometimes; uncertain of himself, uncertain of Shane, maybe, or just afraid to admit what he wanted. Thankfully, that’s not a problem anymore.

Shane could give Mike a lift to optional skate the next morning, but it’s three days until their next game, and it’ll be a hassle to drive back out to the arena to pick Mike’s car up later if they ride together. So Mike drives his own car out of the arena, and by the time he pulls it into the empty space in Shane’s garage, Shane’s had time to get inside and take his shoes off. He’s got a bottle of Gatorade waiting on the breakfast bar for Mike when he finally walks in, shucking off his suit jacket and laying it over the back of the sofa on his way like he owns the place. Shane doesn’t mind. 

“Drink that; you need to rehydrate,” Shane tells him, his own drink halfway to empty already. 

Mike scowls at his bossing, but cracks the cap off and gulps about a third of it down in one shot. His grip on the bottle is too tight, and if it’s possible to drink angrily, that’s what Mike’s doing. Shane sips his at a more leisurely pace, wating for Mike to finish before saying anything else. Mike’s empty bottle hits the countertop before he’s drained his, but that’s all right. 

Shane doesn’t bother to re-cap his bottle, just leaves it mostly-empty on the counter as he comes around the breakfast bar and gets his hand around the back of Mike’s neck again, and this time Mike’s shameless about leaning into the touch. Shane tugs him forward, to the point that he’s nearly tipping off his barstool, until his forehead rests against Shane’s clavicle. 

“Do you want your collar tonight?” Shane asks, turning his head so his cheek is against Mike’s still-damp curls. 

Mike exhales a long, shuddering breath against Shane’s chest, then collapses against him so suddenly that Shane has to take a half-step forward to keep Mike from falling out of his seat. “Yes, _please_ ,” he begs as Shane pets his hair. 

“Go upstairs and strip,” Shane tells him, “I’ll be up in a minute.” 

Mike nods in agreement, a movement that ends up more of a catlike rub of his face against Shane’s shirt. Shane scratches Mike’s scalp gently for a moment, releasing him when he finally stands up to leave the kitchen. Once Mike’s well on his way upstairs, Shane turns back to finish his Gatorade, rinses both bottles and puts them in the recycling bin. He checks the locks and the garage door, then turns out the lights in the kitchen and living room. By the time he heads upstairs, he’s confident that he’s given Mike enough time.

He has.

Mike is naked and kneeling in the middle of the floor, with his arms clasped behind his back. His dick has chubbed up a little — not hard yet, but getting interested — and he keeps his eyes forward when Shane walks in, behaving himself. He looks so fucking pretty, kneeling there, waiting for Shane to take care of him, and he’s been good so far, so Shane doesn’t make him wait for his collar. He collects it from the drawer where it’s kept, and steps up in front of Mike. 

“Tilt your head up,” Shane orders, and Mike does.

His eyes slip closed as Shane buckles the soft brown leather around his throat, checking to be sure it’s not too tight. Mike doesn’t move, doesn’t shift to test the fit; he trusts Shane, trusts him to be in charge so Mike doesn’t have to be, even of himself. When Shane takes a half-step closer to adjust the buckle on the back of Mike’s neck, Mike nuzzles at the front of his pants. 

Shane laughs indulgently. He’s being a bit of a pushover tonight, but it’s not about _punishment_ ; not this time, at least, and Mike deserves to be coddled a bit. So Shane leans back, just enough to strip off his shirt and unzip his pants, shove his underwear down his thighs enough to get his dick out.

“Come here,” Shane says, getting his hand in Mike’s hair and encouraging him forward, so he’s leaning just a little too far, slightly off balance, resting with his cheek against Shane’s thigh. Mike’s breath exhales warm and moist against Shane’s balls. “You want to suck me?” Shane asks, even though he knows, and Mike nods, his stubble scratching against Shane’s skin, eyes still closed. “Go ahead.” 

He keeps his fingers buried in Mike’s hair as Mike shifts to get his lips around the head of Shane’s still mostly-soft cock. He suckles at the tip, lips soft and tight, the very tip of his tongue playing with Shane’s slit, encouraging Shane’s dick to fill faster. It doesn’t take much, when Mike looks like that.

“ _Augh,_ yeah,” Shane groans, petting Mike’s hair, “just like that, you’re such a good boy.”

Mike moans, opening a little more, taking Shane deeper. Shane brings his other hand up, cups Mike’s face with his thumb at the corner of Mike’s mouth. He slides his thumb in alongside his dick, pulls Mike’s jaw open wide.

“I want your throat,” he tells Mike, and Mike makes a little noise. He can’t say anything with Shane’s cock filling his mouth up, but his hips jerk, and Shane can see that his dick is hard, the tip wet and dripping precome onto Shane’s carpet. 

“Yeah, that’s my good boy,” Shane murmurs as he slowly pushes his hips forward, holding Mike in place with the hand in his curls. “Relax for me,” he orders when the head of his cock bumps the back of Mike’s mouth. 

It takes a second, a breath through his nose, then Mike swallows around Shane, takes him all the way down, the muscles in his throat working Shane’s cock, gripping tight, encouraging Shane to drive in as deep as he can go, then pull back a little and do it again. He fucks Mike’s throat until Mike starts to choke, needing to breathe. 

“You’re not gonna be able to talk tomorrow,” Shane warns him, holding Mike’s jaw open with his thumb — not pulling back, just giving Mike enough time to breathe before taking his throat again, harder this time. “And you’re gonna remember why,” he pants out, breathing heavy at the tight heat of Mike’s mouth, Mike’s tongue working the underside of his cock. 

Mike drools all over Shane’s dick, saliva escaping his lips and getting Shane’s balls wet when he pushes Mike’s head down so far that his nose mashes against Shane’s pubic bone. Mike’s eyes are wet, too, and red from when he hasn’t been able to fully control his gag reflex. “Look at you,” Shane wonders at him, his voice rough with arousal, and feels Mike shudder under his hands. “You’re so pretty like this.”

He strokes over Mike’s cheek, down his neck to where the collar rests against his flushed skin. He fingers the edge of it, loving the way it makes Mike squirm. He does it again, just to watch Mike’s dick twitch and a thick droplet of precome escape. “Taking your captain’s cock like a good boy,” Shane says, praising Mike while his fingers continue moving over Mike’s neck, petting him softly. “Yeah, open up for me.” 

Shane thumbs at the hinge of Mike’s open jaw, keeps fucking into his throat until Mike’s face is bright red and he pants hard whenever he can catch a breath. Shane’s stamina is good, but it’s not _that_ good, not when Mike’s like this. “I’m gonna come, baby,” Shane tells him, letting Mike breathe for a moment but not speak, mouth still stretched wide around his shaft. “You’re gonna be a good boy and swallow me,” he says; Mike doesn’t get a choice about this. “I’m gonna come in your throat, and you don’t get to breathe again until you make me come.” 

Mike’s pupils dilate even further as he sucks in a breath and opens up to take Shane in again. Shane groans as Mike’s throat works around his sensitive head; he’s already so close, and then Mike starts swallowing frantically, muscles rippling around Shane’s cock. Shane hangs on as long as he can, holds his orgasm back until it tears out of him.

“Yeah, _fuuuck_ ,” Shane moans as he comes, spurting down Mike’s spasming throat, holding Mike’s head in place as his hips stutter. He pulls back as he finishes, the last splashes of come coating Mike’s tongue as Mike gasps, desperate for air. Mike breathes heavily as he laps at Shane’s cock, swirling his tongue around to gather up every last drop.

“Good boy,” Shane murmurs, carding his fingers through Mike’s curls. He lets Mike finish licking his cock clean as he softens, getting oversensitive toward the end. His muscles jerk reflexively when Mike nurses gently at the tip, and he finally pulls his cock out of range. Mike whines sadly at the loss, and Shane’s chest fills up with feeling, looking down at him. 

“Come up here,” Shane says, pulling Mike to his feet. He’s as shaky as a new foal, falling into Shane’s arms and letting himself be held up as Shane presses their mouths together. Mike’s lips are red and puffy from being stretched around Shane, wet from spit and come. Shane wants to devour him. 

“Mmm,” Mike purrs, opening for Shane’s tongue as easily as he’d opened for his cock. 

Shane takes his time exploring, licking the taste of himself out of Mike’s mouth, the taste of dick and come. He can smell it on Mike’s breath, loves the thought that anyone would know that Mike had just finished sucking Shane’s cock. 

Mike’s still hard and dripping, and his hips jerk as he tries to rub himself off against Shane’s stomach. “You did so well,” Shane tells him between kisses, stilling Mike’s movements with a hand on his waist. “Shh, I’m gonna take care of you. There’s a good boy,” he coaxes, slipping a finger through the D-ring of Mike’s collar to guide him over to the bed.

“On your back,” Shane orders, and Mike obeys, laying spread out on top of the comforter, his erection dark red and so hard, jutting up into empty air. 

Shane takes his time slipping the rest of the way out of his slacks and underwear, enjoying the way Mike’s eyes track his movements, but he doesn’t make him wait long. Once he’s got his socks off he climbs onto the bed between Mike’s spread legs, forcing them further apart with his knees. 

“Look how wet you are,” Shane runs two fingers up the length of Mike’s dick, gathering up precome. Mike whines at the contact, jerking upward, but Shane puts him back down with a hand against his belly. “Not yet,” he commands, and Mike bites his lip and nods, squirming.

“Bend your knees for me,” Shane demands, slipping his slick fingertips down under Mike’s balls until they brush against his entrance. 

Mike flexes his knees, putting his feet flat on the bedspread and opening himself up so Shane can see the way his hole flutters, tight and pink, when Shane strokes over it. He plays with Mike’s rim for a while, teasing with his fingertips, catching with a blunt fingernail. Mike’s precome isn’t enough to slick the way for Shane’s cock, but once he gathers up a little more, Shane doesn’t pause before sliding two fingers in deep, holding Mike down with the hand on his belly when he moans loudly and bucks up, begging for more.

“There you go,” Shane encourages as he fucks Mike gently with his fingers. He keeps it slow and steady, not enough to tip Mike over into orgasm, but enough to keep him right at the edge. Mike’s hands flex and grip hard into the bedspread, and he whimpers when he bites hard enough on his lip to draw blood. That’s enough, Shane thinks, and slides the hand on Mike’s belly down, wrapping his fingers around Mike’s cock in a firm grip. Mike cries out, and Shane grips his cock harder, down at the base.

“Don’t come yet,” he orders, and Mike whines piteously but manages to nod. 

Shane holds him tightly until he’s sure that Mike won’t come as soon as he moves his hand. Once he’s satisfied, he relaxes his grip only enough that he can stroke up Mike’s cock. He plays with Mike’s foreskin, stretching it up over the wet head until just the slit is exposed, swiping over the sensitive spot with the pad of his thumb. Mike whimpers the whole time, getting even wetter. Shane spreads the precome down over his length, makes it easier for him to keep that firm pressure as he jacks Mike’s cock. He matches the rhythm he’s using to finger Mike’s ass, in and down, out and up, until Mike is quivering with the effort of not coming, all his muscles locked up.

“Beg me,” Shane says, and it’s like a floodgate opens.

“ _Please,_ ” Mike pleads, strung out and nearly delirious. “Fuck, please, please, I need to come, please let me come, please, _Captain_ , please—“ 

“Good boy,” Shane affirms, then rubs over the head of Mike’s cock with his whole hand, presses his fingertips against the bump of Mike’s prostate. “Come for me,” he commands, and Mike screams as he does.

Shane strokes him through it, keeps up the stimulation until Mike’s dick is soft and twitching weakly in Shane’s hand, his belly and chest a mess of sweat and come. Shane withdraws his fingers gently, pausing to caress Mike’s rim as the ring of muscles spasms. Mike looks like a work of art, limp and nonsensical from his orgasm, painted up with long stripes of come and sprawled across Shane’s bed.

He knows it’ll take Mike a little while to climb back out of the headspace he’s gone into, so Shane takes a moment to fetch a warm, damp washcloth from his ensuite, cleaning Mike up while he’s still wrung out and pliant, and not entirely conscious. Shane’s got the job finished by the time Mike starts to murmur and shift, and tosses the washcloth in the general direction of the bathroom door to be taken care of later. He crawls up next to Mike and gathers him up, pulling the comforter and sheets out from under the two of them. He’ll have to get up to turn off the lights at some point, but Mike likes to cuddle as he comes back to himself, and Shane won’t deny him that. 

Shane pushes Mike’s sweaty bangs back, away from his face, as he arranges Mike until they’re curled comfortably around each other. The tension Mike had carried at the end of the game is gone, fucked out of him, and his soft mouth opens sweetly under Shane’s, accepting his kisses. Shane tugs a little at the D-ring of the collar, catching Mike’s attention.

“Feel better?” he asks quietly, and Mike nods. 

“Thank you, Captain,” Mike says with a lazy smile, and leans in to be kissed again.


End file.
